Part I

[Skit: Jaryd Blake]
Meet Kane, a bright young man who's future is in question
Who is, at the moment, face-to-face with the reality that most inner city kids are faced with
Escape by way of jail, death, or redemption

[Verse 1: Jaryd Blake]
Home, where do you consider yours?
Somebody's pain just sent them to the liquor store
Pavement filled with blood, bullets, and liquor pour
Results of an overdose, I suppose they had no way out they biggest storm
"R.I.P" shirts, what yo best pictures for
Kids die from bein' sent to stores
It's, "Free my n***as" when the victim family isn't yours
"Big Homie" is the title little homies is biddin' for
So we gettin' wars at a age that we should be gettin' chores
We discuss petty crimes and who committed more
'Cause whoever get the most stain is who the rich is for
So, at the age of fourteen, you want the biggest score
Big Homie, ayy, Big Homie
Yeah?
Tell me this perspective isn't yours
Yo, yeah, you caught it like this lighter
I really wish the light in your eyes would shine brighter
It's a cloudy night, but the Moon shine, it hit the floor
The shards of glass [?] the glimmer more
All the things you want to ain't nothin' that I ain't did before
Right now I'm your role model, but it's a role I ain't auditioned for
My family needs income, guns and drugs create the biggest source
Granted, I just walked through those prison doors
I got a son your age that I'm tryin' make provisions for
Gotta make provisions for
Out on bond
With a situation that calls for me to be God and Satan
I got a slowly kill a young man, and create one
I give a young man money, and I pay one
Go ahead and let them tears on your face run
The harsh reality is I can only save one
That's why I got you out here slangin' somethin' from eight somethin' to six in the mornin'
I risk a lot to give you compensation, see, I knew your father, he was my day one
I wish your mother's mental state has character with subject to assassination
But, you havin' low aspirations, you looked at me in admiration
I turned your ave into my plantation
You bein' on probation, and stuck in the same location
Is a result of a plan that just needed application
The whole situation's my creation
And, honestly, what I feel most now is agitation
That look is the same look your daddy would have
Out of aggravation
So you gotta die the way he did
From complications *gunshots*
Part II

[Skit: Jaryd Blake]
Meet Mr. Brown, an ambitious man who's future is in question
On trial for being a leader of an illegal drug cartel
And for the murder of a young teenage boy
The prosecution is callin' for life in prison, if not the death penalty

[Verse 2: Jaryd Blake]
Can I make a confession?
Can I speak to y'all before y'all judge me
I ain't askin' y'all to love me, I just want put things in perspective
I have a name, I'm not Inmate Fifty-Twenty-Three-O-Seven
I have a son who's birthday on the eleventh
I have a mom who's dedicated to my progression
I have a girl who means the world to me, she deserves a wedding
Now, that all depends on your impression of me
Bein' that there's no evidence suggestin' that my aggression killed them young man
The odds would have it that I'd still go in and do time
Face lethal injection, justice, let's talk about justice
[?] free of justice, incarcerated as a thief that got busted
Injustice seems to be reserved for justice
You say that you don't want it to be this way, but it just is
Even when I can't feel a cuffs on my wrists I know they been adjusted to fit my life in a way that's destructive
Skin too dark for you trust us
Too uneducated for discussion
Too reliant on substances
I wonder who the real killer amongst us is
I wonder where I can live, and avoid my house bein' raided
Robbers are cops
Where can I duck mass incarceration? [?]
Why I feel like I gotta [?] when stopped by a cop?
[?] likely ways for me to die or [?] shock
I am innocent, I am innocent
Would you trade places with me?
Would you trade faces with me?
Would you trade races with me?
I think you think God's grace is wasted with me
I think you think I'm full of shit, and my embrace is empty
I think you think ignorant shit is the best way to tempt me
But turn history's pages with me
And see the accepted version of reclusion does exempt me
Our freedom has always been seen as harmful to a system that's partial
And still, it's hard to wrap my head around the fact that you might say I'm guilty
But I am innocent, I am innocent, say I'm not guilty
And still, my imprisonment will be my environment, I am vigilant
Authorities militant, neighbours are immigrant
Even with no bars, my home's still a equivalent
Tell me who listenin', who actions are sickenin'
Part III

[Skit: Jaryd Blake]
Meet Mrs. Baker, a single mother tryin' her best to heal physically, emotionally, and spiritually at a group therapy session
Just a few short months after her son was gunned down
In her South Central Los Angeles neighbourhood

[Verse 3: Jaryd Blake]
I'm here for a number of reasons right now
I look somewhat decent
But I used to be on the corners fiendin' for coke
I'm here by the blood of Jesus, I've contracted some diseases
I wanna thank all of y'all for helpin' me cope
I was broken at my lowest, I received a diagnosis that helped focus on what mattered most, my son and daughter
I remember everyday bein' awake and [?] and Quaker Oats
And my daily dosage of laughter from their jokes that made me stronger
I was no longer a [?] nor a [?]
Didn't even need the occasional swig of liquor
I felt larger than the addictions I couldn't conquer
My kids have to different fathers
My daughter's daddy didn't want her
I'm sure her mind wanders from time to time
About what life would be like if these burdens weren't placed upon her
My son would probably be seen as a monster
A dangerous mobster, but every foul thing he ever did was so that our family could prosper
At a real young age he had dreams of makin' the college team
His dad told him that he'd be a boxer, his favorite fighter was Oscar
He always said that my daughter would be a doctor, a cop or a S.W.A.T. jumpin' from helicopters
When it came for carin' for people, nothin' could stop her
At school, she had her first aid kit in her locker, who does that?
But see, my son was an emotional responder
A trait his principal wasn't too fond of
A smart boy, but not much of a scholar
But well aware of the power of a dollar
Dropped out of school not to squander his life away
But so I wouldn't be a goner
My house is currently where the most dangerous blocks are
In the kitchen, just open the washer, there's a cabinet
That's where the pots are
The one I would use to make pasta
He would use to cook the drugs he sold, and that wasn't a shocker
Because he took the responsibility of bein' my sponsor
Every week he would buy pills and some bottles of water
He would save every part of tryna give me the life that his dad couldn't offer
Right now they stay together
Who knows, I might not be here much longer
But I'm here in his honour
And to that gentleman who spoke before me
I'd like to give some advice
You described your life as something that could've been great
When I look at you, I feel like I got my son in sight
So, like I said, let me give you some advice
When you fight for your family, you fight with all of your might
That means, even when the situation seems wrong, you make it right
Even if that moment you guys aren't tight, allow the thought of tomorrow to be your guide of light
Despite all that they haven't or have done
Because, one day, tomorrow will never come
Because–
Part IV

[Skit: Jaryd Blake]
Meet Jaryd and GRIP
Friends of the sons of mothers who's sons
Lost their lives in the streets
These two young men who've managed to survive in cities where too many n***as die, they're dreamin' quiet
Tryna dodge a suit and tie (Relax, ahah)
Recordin' in a home studio (Yo, GRIP, good lookin')
Check it

[Verse 4: Jaryd Blake & GRIP]
I know everything is one
Hate and love, peace and water, sky
In the ocean floor, need less and eatin' more
First sight never seen before
Bein' short, bein' tall, fall back, get involved
You and I [?] in [?]
Last days in a long life, [?] and a tour guide
[?] nah, long day to short night, which mean a poor guy
[?] like dark black white
First one last time, got [?], past time, new lane, dash lines
Slow car, fast kind, burst in crash site, [?] baptized
Heaven in a pastlife, GRIP

[Verse 5: GRIP]
I don't know what I be missin' more
Watchin' Ric Flair put his opponents in figure fours
Or pushin' toy cars across the kitchen floor
Climbin' a sycamore, or playin' N64
Or pressin' my ear against my sister's door
You ask what did I listen for?
The pictures depicted over explicit scores
Studied that shit galore and jotted 'til my wrists was sore
Them words hit harder when your condition's poor
And you could relate to what them n***as spew on the tape
While simultaneously losin' your faith
So you view music as a thing that you can do to escape
Outside is my muse, my inspiration to paint
Save souls, lost souls, all the sinners and saints
Do you smoke? Do you drink?
Maybe you don't do neither
All I need is to cope would make me a believer
'Cause I'm a heaver of "Hail Mary's"
Scramblin' in a last ditch effort
If I never escape the pocket, then blast this record
Knew a n***a better than K.D. that never made it past J.V
Today he servin' a sentence in the state P
Make it out the hood and you considered an escapee
But n***as don't want to see you stay free from ATL to AZ
It's the same song, I think you n***as got the game wrong
Think he need to find your place in the world instead of findin' someone to put the blame one
Ran out of space, hang on
We went from scribblin' with crayons to chalk outlines
And the only possible way to communicate is a séance
Damn, 'cause outside is a world wagin' on
Don't end up a victim' that live forever through a song
And I'm gone